The opium trade has dishonoured the name of God among the heathen more extensively than any other traffic of ancient or modern times. ‘The flowing poison’, the ‘vile dirt’, ‘the dire calamity brought upon us by foreigners’, these, and a hundred like them, are the names it bears, in the language of this empire. Its foreign origin has been bruited everywhere, and its introducers and their character branded in every city and hamlet throughout China.
What is it that has made the provinces of Malwa, Bihar, and Benares the chief localities of the opium cultivation? Why are vast tracts of land in those districts, formerly occupied with other articles, now covered with poppies? Although so wide-spread, why is the culture still rapidly on the increase?
The traffic is the creature of the East India Company, itself the organ of the British government. The revenues of India, the opium branch included, have repeatedly received the sanction of Parliament. The opium manufacture, and the trade inseparable from it, have received the highest sanction bestowable in one country, on an article proscribed in another. The British merchant went out from the high places of legislation to attend the sales of the East India Company. Authority, example, sympathy, were on his side; what cared he for the interdicts of the strange, despotic, repulsive government of China? Misled by Parliament he was confirmed in error by the decisions of society. No order of society was proof against this illusion. Will not the Stanhopes, the Noels, the Harrises take up this argument and tell the people of England that in the application of the principle of benevolence they are below the Chinese? Ought not this uprising of a Pagan empire against the demon of seduction, to react with power on Christians in the west? My oldest friend in China – a man familiar with the language – says: ‘I have talked with many hundreds about the use of the drug, and never found one, to defend, or even palliate it.’ Among all its victims it has no advocate. In England the licensed and gilded gin-palace courts every passer-by; the Chinese smoker threads his way to his secret haunt guilty and ashamed.
It is estimated that there are 80,000 chests of the drug in existence. Under this enormous accumulation, it is evident that the cultivation of the poppy, throughout India, should immediately cease. The lands which have been engrossed by this deleterious culture, should be returned to uses not incompatible with human life, virtue, and happiness.
Already, we are told, the use of the drug is insinuating itself into the habits of a morbid portion of Western society. (The consumption of Great Britain for 1831-32 was over 28,000 lbs per annum.) Such a taste once spread and fixed, by transmission through one or two generations, how shall it be eradicated?
It is undeniable that some of the most important ends of Providence in our day, are being brought about by the agency of national tastes. The manner in which England and China are and have long been, bound together by the taste for tea is a good instance. And let it be remembered that the same Providence which uses these peculiar predilections as means of national friendship can turn them also to purposes of social chastisement. May it not happen that any such retributions – the recoil of a depraved taste, the reaction of temptation on the tempter – await the Western states in commerce with China.
The energies and truth of God go with us in every effort to hasten the reign of universal amity and freedom; but that era must be coeval with the time when ‘nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.’
I am, dear Sir
Ever truly yours
C. W. King
*
Suddenly one day it was over. The barricades came down and the shops on New and Old China Street began to open their doors and shutters.
But Fanqui-town was almost deserted now: only the sixteen merchants who had been refused permission to leave remained, with their employees.
The last period of detention, amidst the forlorn and empty factories, had been a trial for all who remained; there was great relief in the Achha Hong when it came to be known that the surrender of opium had finally been completed and everyone would soon be allowed to leave.
The day before their departure Neel did a last, solitary round of the enclave, bidding goodbye to Asha-didi and exchanging chin-chins with the linkisters, some of whom had become good friends. His last stop was at the print-shop: Compton led him into the inner courtyard and called for tea and snacks. They talked for a while of the still-unfinished Chrestomathy and then Compton handed him an envelope: ‘Have got one last proof for you, Neel. It is a present.’
‘What is it?’
‘Letter.’
‘But who is it from? And who is the writer?’
‘Letter is from Lin Zexu to Queen of England.’
Neel started in surprise. ‘Commissioner Lin has written a letter to Queen Victoria?’
‘Haih! Translation also has been made and printed. Ho-yih can read later.’
‘I will,’ said Neel, rising to go. ‘Thank you, Compton. Do-jeh!’
Mh sai!
At the door of the print-shop Neel came to a stop. ‘Listen, Compton, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’
‘Yes, Ah Neel. Me-aa?’
‘That day, when you introduced me to your teacher, Chang Lou-si, you said something that puzzled me.’
‘What was it?’
‘You said that you had found out something about Seth Bahramji – about the bad things he has been responsible for.’
Compton nodded. ‘Yes. We found out because of Ho Lao-kin. You remember? Man who was executed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Before he die he very afraid, pale-face-white-lips, like gwai is after him. He talk a lot, lo-lo-so-so. Say many thing. He tell that it was Mister Moddie who first give him opium – that how he start in the business. That time Mister Moddie have woman here in Canton – aunt of Ho Lao-kin. Later he have son with her, ne? You savvy no-savvy all this, Ah Neel?’
‘I’ve heard something about it. Go on.’
‘This boy, when he grow up, he need work. Ho Lao-kin take him to Macau – help him join smuggler gang. He work for them some years but then he have trouble and want to leave. He ask his father to take to his country, but father say no, must stay here. Then things become very bad for him. Gang boss want to kill him, so he run away, come to Guangzhou, hide with his mother. Gang-men catch Ho Lao-kin and he tell them boy is with mother, on boat. They go there to catch him, but he is gone, ne? Only mother there.’
‘And then?’
‘Then they kill her and leave on boat.’
Compton pursed his lips in disapproval and shook his head: ‘Mister Moddie not good; he have done too much harm. Low-low sek-sek, you should not work for him Ah Neel. Yauh-jyuh – watch out, all who are close to him will suffer for what he has done.’
Neel fell silent as he considered this. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘But you know, Compton, it is also true that amongst those who are close to Seth Bahramji there are very few who do not love him. And I am not one of them – for if there is one thing I know about the Seth it is that he has a large and generous heart. This is what makes him different from the Burnhams and Dents and Ferdoonjees and the rest of them. You mark my words, those men will lose nothing in the end. It is Seth Bahramji who will be the biggest loser – and the reason for that is just this: he has a heart.’
Compton smiled: ‘You are loyal Neel. Sih-sih.’
‘We Achhas are a loyal people – it is perhaps our greatest failing. It is a sin amongst us to break faith with those whose salt we have eaten.’